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lewis m. grist, proprietor. | 2U JJitbtptntaf Jfantilj ffcfospaptr: ^for ilji ^Promotion of fjjc ^political, Atrial, ^grintlfural anb Comnurfial Jntcrtsts of lljf j?oatl). j TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 30. YORKVILLE, S C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 10, 18S4. NO. 2. jto ?riginat j^ttftg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. CELESTINE. THE STORY OF A MISTAKE. CHAPTER III. . Some weeks passed. Mr. Warren would have been supremely happy with his young wife, but for one drawback?she continued subject to fits of depression; and he frequently surprised her in tears. That she snould* grieve for her father's death was natural, and he was not at all inclined to censure her for it. But he felt instinctively that she had some cause for sorrow apart from her loss, and he longed to win her confidence sufficiently to be able to discover what this cause was. In spite of his efforts, it seemed as though a Darner 01 some sort existed between them, which prevented the establishment of such perfect unreserve and confidence as he desired. Pie was deeply troubled by the persistent I recurrence of an idea which had forced itself involuntarily into his mind. Had he | done wrong in hurrying Cele.stine into their : marriage ? did she really care for him as he j had hoped she did ? or was the love only on his side ? He remembered her surprise, her hesitation, when his proposal had first been made to her. He feared now that he had thought j too much of his own wishes?and yet he had been influenced not only by his love, but by a most earnest desire to afford her his protection, to throw the shield of his tender care over her loneliness, and shelter her in his warm, true heart from rough contact with the world. He had been moved by the purest of impulses, but it might be that he had erred in yielding to them. Mr. Warren Was a man of calm and even cold exterior, but beneath the surface rushed a current of strong and ardent feeling, all the more powerful because habitually held in check. Never before had his nature been so deeply stirred as by the new emotion -iwakened within it?his sudden, passionate love for Celestine, which, springing like a flash into being, had taken possession of him with overwhelming force. He already felt that to resign such a love would be like tearing out the fibres of his heart. But what if it were not responded to? It was not that Celestine appeared cold or indifferent. On the contrary, now that her first timidity had somewhat worn off, she began to manifest a certain clinging tenderness towards him, which often thrilled him with delight. Hhe continually turned to him for advice, and seemed happy to consult his wishes, his opinions, about everything. Any suggestion made by him was followed instantly, and with manifest pleasure on her part. Yet in spite of all this, there were times when a sudden chill would fall upon her. and he fancied that she shrank from his notice, as though she were oppressed by some secret trouble which sin; would not have him share. It was this thought which hurt him?that her confidence was only his in part, and he argued within himself that if her heart were wholly his she would wish to keep nothing from him. At such times he would fancy, bitterly, that the little shy demonstrations, which he had happily accepted from her as evidences of her love, were but forced on her part?that it was an impulse of duty alone which impelled her to make a show of responding tc the manifestations of his own tenderness; and that she was trying to school herself j. into a.^foper frame of heart and mind, as a child would conscientiously apply itself to the study of a distasteful task. Entering her room one day, at an hour when he was usually occupied in his study, he found her reading a letter, which, on his entrance, she instantly crushed together in her hand, while a deep flush suffused her face. Her confusion was too marked to escape his notice. A thrill of pain shot through him at the thought that she had anything to conceal, but he schooled himself to speak in his usual tone as he addressed some trivial inquiry to her, quite foreign to the subject on which he had come prepared to consult her. She made a rather irrelevant answer, still looking embarrassed and distressed. Mr. Warren hesitated a moment. Here was some mystery which possibly it might be his duty to solve. Why not question her frankly, and perhaps end at once the painful reserve which so often intruded itself upon their happiness? But his own natural reticence overcame the impulse, and a hard, bitter feeling arose in its place. "Prav, do not allow me to disturb you,'.' j he said, coldly and proudly. "I seem to have interrupted you at an unfortunate time, j and will not remain." "Oh ! no?not at all?you don't disturb I me," she faltered, blushing still more deep- j ly than before, while tears rose to her eyes, i "I am not busy." "Only engaged with some interesting cor-' respondence," he could not forbear saying, with a glance at the letter in her hand. "You need not conceal it so carefully, Celestine. I have no wish to discover any of your secrets." And hastily turning away ! he left the room. A tumult of feeling agi-1 tated him. Wounded affection, a suspicion j of some wrong, lyingled with instant regret I at his own self-betrayal, excited him beyond j control. He was pacing his study with nervous, hurried steps, trying to stem the i chaos of bis troubled thoughts, when the j door onened and Celestine entered, her face j stained with tears, the crumpled letter still I in her grasp. "Read it?oh, read it!" she cried in a "broken voice, as she forced it into his unwilling hand. 1 beg you will. I cannot rest until you do; but 1 am afraid you will never forgive me." She was turning swiftly to retreat, when : he caught her hand firmly and drew her; back. "Stay, Celestine," he commanded. "If there Is anything for me to learn, 1 must ] learn it in your presence. If there is anything for me to forgive, do not run away from my forgi veness. I have perceived," he added in a lower tone, "that there has been something between us?something kept back?I know not what; God knows I have i tried to win your confidence, and have freely given you mine, but it seems the effort has been vain?perhaps I have not tried aright; whatever the reason may be, I feel that 1 have failed. There don't give way like i that," he continued, for she was now sobbing I aloud. "Oh! child, are you unhappy? Have j I so miserably erred in my endeavor to j secure your welfareV" "Oh, no, no! you do everything?you have doneeverything; the fault is all niiiie," she answered through her tears. "I have been wicked and dishonest?I have kept I back the truth; but you will find it out now. The letter will tell you, at least a part. 1 should die if I had to conceal it any longer." Without replying, her husband opened the mysterious letter; with a great dread of what its contents might be almost over-! <came him, and seemed for a moment to blur his sight. When at last he got the drift of the words scrawled, in a large irregular hand, on the page before him, a complete amazement was the result. He seemed to be reading a puzzle without being able to arrive at its solution. He looked through it again?examined the date, the signature? * then in altered tone said, "I cannot make this out at all. Will you explain it to me?" "That letter," she humbly replied, speaking with downcast eyes and crimson cheeks, "was addressed to me three years ago, by the manager of a theatre in , a little town in New York. I had before played the part he alludes to?that of Juliet?and, as you see, he wrote asking me to repeat the role. It is simply a business communication ; my object in showing it to you is that you mav learn what 1 was?what I was educated to* be. It is that which I have concealed from you?what I have been afraid to tell you." She ceased speaking, and stood before him s with the air of a" culprit. Silas looked at her fixedly, then at the letter again; he put his hand to his forehead with a bewildered I air"You mean to say," he presently observed, still with the air of a man struggling against some delusion, "that you are the person requested here to play the part of l Juliet?in a theatre?a public theatre??and that you had acted in public before ?" "Yes," she murmured almost inaudibly. 44Were you?a?professional?actress?at : that time ?'" "Yes." "How long were you in the profession?" "About four years :?oh Silas! my husi band! don't look so?don't speak in that way!?oh, what shall I do!" She sank on the floor at his feet; he raisj ed her quickly. "Celestine, calm yourself, and leave me i for a few moments," he said in a suppressed tone. I am not angry with you, but I want | a little time to think?I feel confused. Do 1 you hear? I am not angry but I wish to be [ alone." Gently but authoritatively he led her to the door?closed it upon her?then sat down in his arm-chair by the table, and leaned his head upon his hand. He scarcely knew what to think?he could not fathom his own feelings clearly in regard to the discovery he had made. On the one hand he was conscious of a j sense of relief; deep, unmistakable relief. He had dreaded, almost without acknowl1 Kirvtc.(?lt' ^A>V?A u'fAnrr / ] ni n o I It IU illitl^CU, 9VI1IU uuin^ VJI his wife's part which it might have been very hard to condone, or else the existence of some insuperable barrier to her affection for him ; he had just read in her looks, her tones, unmistakable confession that ber heart, at any rate was his?he had felt it in her convulsive clasp of his hands, which he had loosed as he put her from him, and it had thrilled him in her bitter cry of distress as she knelt before him. She loved him, though she had erred greviously against him. On the other hand, all the principles, all the prejudices, which his training from his childhood up had imbued into his mind, revolted against the knowledge of the facts just laid bare to him. He had been taught to regard the theatrical profession as an odious one, and its members as an unworthy set, almost unfit for pure companionship. He had not believed that all actors and ac- ; tresses must of necessity be immoral characters or lead evil lives; he had been wiling to suppose that there were exceptions to the general rule; but their occupation was one which must lead them under evil influences, and into an atmosphere in which it must be hard to escape pollution. And that his wife?his pure innocent Celestine, with her childlike heart, her clinging nature?should have had her lot cast among such as these! it was hard to realize, still harder to be reconciled to. The concealment, which had weighed so heavily upon her, did not seem as evil a thing as the fact [ itself. And yet, justice prompted him to admit, the concealment was really all he could blame her for ; and that he could surely forgive, knowing how sorely she had been pressed. She had committed no sin in following a line of life to which she had been educated ; if she had ledthatlife blamelessly, what was there to render her unworthy of his best and purest love ? Kather let him be thankful that he should have been the means of lifting her into a higher sphere; that it was granted to him to monld so lovely a mind to loftier and nobler aspirations than her early training had instilled. And then came the shrinking fear of diseoverv?the dread that some one might find out that he, Silas Warren, with his fixed principles and strict ideas of right and wrong, had married an actress ! "I am a coward," he muttered, springing up as if stung by his own Reflections; "an unworthy, dastardly coward. What matters it what the world says or thinks, as long as I have acted with no wrong motive?as long as her life and mine are blameless and pure? Poor child?poor suffering, repent- j ant child ! I will not leave her any longer to tight out her trouble alone?she* has not sinned, that she should sorrow so deeply." TJ/? ../MirtiUf- on/1 lw* t/\rvL* tr* ilc ffUUglll Jilt? n 111) dim Ud u>- luwu ?\.t >V I his heart she knew that her' wrong-doing j was forgiven. "Oh, Silas! was I not very wicked ?" i she whispered as she clung to him. "No, my child. It would have been bet- ! ter for me to have known this before we were married?not that I am sure it would have made any difference, becaused I loved you so dearly, Celestine, I could scarcely ' have given you up?but then, at least, I should have felt that you were quite frank about yourself, don't you see ?" "Yes; but Silas, that was hardly my 1 fault," she eagerly rejoined. "Don't you remember, I tried to tell you once, and you stopped me?you would not listen; and I tried again to get a chance, but there was such haste and confusion, and 1 felt so bewildered, I hardly knew what to do or say? and since we were married, and I have found out how good and noble you are, oh, my hearthas ached to think that you should have been deceived in me, though I had not meant it?and I have longed and longed to tell you, hut could not find, courage, as I could have done before. I was afraid you would think it a dreadful thing? my profession, I mean?though 1 had never been taught to think so before ; my own dear father did not think it wrong, and he was always with me, and took care of me, and would never let any one speak even a disrespectful word. And oh, my heart has been so full?and I have felt guilty all along, and so miserable!" She poured out the words rapidly, incoherently, and ended with a burst of tears, hiding her face again on his breast. "And you feared my anger, Celestine? have I, then, seemed harsh or unKina?" "No, no, never! but I was most afraid you would not love mo any more, and then 1 should have died." "Then you do care for me?my darling?" "More than all the world beside! llow could I help it, Silas?" "Then I am happy?as long as we have each other's love, what matters anything else? Only remember, Celestine, this is a secret between us two; it concerns no one but ourselves. People might wonder, and not understand?the world is a hard, cruel judge. We will bury the past, as though it had never existed?your life is all new, and cut oft'from the old?it is a part of my life now, don't you see? You are Celestine Warren, the clergyman's wife; and all that happened before is only a dream. I know that you are as good and pure as an angel, and will never casta stain upon my name." "There was never a stain upon my name, and why should I ever cast one on yours?" Celestine answered with a momentary Hash of resentment. It was over directly\ however, and she was humble and tender again, happy and thankful in the restored relation | of mutual good will, and the establishment of perfect confidence, which she had never before enjoyed. With the load of concealment removed, and the knowledge of forgiveness, won, she threw off the cloud which bad shadowed her spirit, and shone forth in her natural brightness and cheerfulness of temperament. Under the sunshine of her influence the quiet primness of her husband's home assumed a new aspect; even staid Miss Latimer yielded to the charm, and admitted that in bringing a young wife to the house, Mr. Warren had done a wise thing. ?Ari^Liitiiiior?had a kindlv heart. ; and although a little prone to be "set" in ; her notions, she was not impervious to the ! sweetness of Celesti tie's temper, and the | winning persuasion which by degrees eon; quered many a little stubborn prejudice on her part, and made her give in with a good j grace to certain inroads on the old-fashion; ed customs of the establishment. I Silas, too, was thoroughly happy and con; tent, and wrote his weekly sermon with a peaceful mind. People thought hissermons, | in those halcyon days, the finest that had I ever flowed from his pen. And if they ad mired and reverenced him, still more closely were they drawn to his wife, who had. fallen so kindly and easily into her place | among them. From old paralyzed Mrs. Murphy, who had stood for years, as folks said, with one foot in her grave, down to the youngest toddling child, there was not one of her husband's Hock who did not look , upon her with true affectionate regard, and j learn to welcome her coming eagerly. To j the better class of the parishioners, she was 1 "a dear little woman, just the right sort for ! a clergyman's wife." To the poor and the | I needy, she was a sort of angelic visitant, in-1 I vested with a beauty and brightness which ! had, hitherto, not come within the range of; j their experience. J 80 all things in the household and in the | parish went on harmoniously, and every one i was happy. Only, perhaps, it would have been better if Silas, in that interview with his wife, had left his concluding words unsaid. They still rankled a little bit?though almost unconsciously?in her heart. [TO BE CONTINl'ED.] |Si0gt?lilual Uqiattmimt. BISMARCK. , Carlyle says that great men are a privi legetl society, ana mac cneir niscory n me history of the world. Bismarck is one of the few, whose enlightened and far seeing statesmanship has controlled the destiny of nations. Otto Von Bismarck Schoenhauscn was horn at Brandenburg, April 1st, 1818. of a wealthy and noble family. He received his education at the Universities of Berlin and Goettingen and at Greifswald, where he studied law. As a school boy, he was as commanding and stern as Frederick the! Great. A little story is told of him which illustrates the impression he made upon people as a boy. While visiting a friend, it is said, at Griefswald, Bismarck, then a student, met his first love. He became strongly attached to the young lady during hia cfoir 1.111H ntYor hi<< rlpnnrtnrp wrofo her n letter containing a formaf ofl'er of marriage. The girl's parents indignantly refused to entertain the overture of "so rude a boy." She afterwards married and came to America, residing for some time in the cities of New York, Brooklyn, and in the State of Minnesota. She left this country in 1872, and is now living in Hungary. Having completed his studies, Bismarck retired to his ancestrial estates, where he resided until he was thirty-two years of age. in 1847, he married Johanna Von Putkammer, and in the same year entered the Prussian Parliament where he distinguished himself at once as an ultra royalist and an enthusiastic advocate of absolutism. He was one of those who opposed the scheme of a German empire, proposed by the parliament in 1849. His diplomatic career began in 1851, when he was appointed chief secretary of Prussian legation, at the German dietmeetingat Frankfurt-on-the-Main. Here he manifested a great /.eal for the aggrandizement of Prussia and a pronounced hostility for the Austrian government, which was dominant in the Assembly. He soon acquired the special regard and confidence ot King Fredrick William VI, who sent him, in the spring of 1892, to Paris, for the purpose of giving him an insight into the politics of Tuilleries, before he was intrusted with thedirection of affairs at home. In Autumn the king began to have serious trouble with the lower house and Bismarck was recalled to take the portfolio of the ministry for Foreign Affairs and the Presidencv of the cahnet. Not beimr able to nass the re-organization bill, and the budget, lie closed the chambers, and announced to the deputies that the king's government would be obliged to do without their sanction. This high handed policy was continued through four sessions of the house. At this crisis, the death of the King of Denmark revived the Schlcswig Holstein question and excited a fever of national feeling among the Germans, which Bismarck was adroit enough to utilize for the aggrandizement of Prussia, by the acquisition of the Duchies, while he reconciled his opponents by pointing to the success of the re-organized army. The struggle with Austria came as the result of Bismarck's conviction that in order to ensure German reconstruction, this empire should be exclued from the federation. The war of 1800 led to the humiliation of Austria and the ascendency of Prussia. In July, 1870, the French Government declared war against Prussia, under a pretext which failed to conceal jealousy of the enormous gain to Prussian prestige, which had recently followed Bismarck's masterly foreign policy. All the German States, except those of Austria, were represented in the /ttttV.tf/l ill UlaY 1111711 UV311 W4> 111 HIV 1 IVlltll V IUJ/llV j successfully besieged Paris, saw the assumption of the emperorship of Germany by the King of Prussia in the halls of the' French monarchy, at Versailles, compelled the cession of Alsace and part of Lorraine, and the 1 payment of an indemnity of a billion dollars. In 1871, Bismarck was made a Prince and Chancellor of the new German empire. He ceased to be prime minister of Prusssia in 18751. Later he gained popularity with the Liberals by opposing the pretentions of the ultra-montane party in the church of Rome, which policy he has considerably I modified. An amusing manifestation of his diplomatic genius was made in August 1851, when he was entrusted with a legation at Frankfort. Prince William halted there 011 his way to Mayenee, where a grand review j was to be held, anil took Bismarck among I his escort. It being hot in the carriage the j two unbuttoned their high military coats. I Shortly before arriving at their journey's | end, the coats were again buttoned up, with j the exception of one button 011 the coat of j the Prince, which he had overlooked. Bis-1 I niarek eyed it with a troubled expression j on his face for some time and finally said : j I For God's sake, Prince, don't leave your coat partly unbuttoned. It would be disgraceful." lie feared a violation of military dignity that would make a bad impression. On the first of April, 18851, the anniversary of his birth was celebrated by the Ger man people, and he received congratulations lrom nearly every European power. Bismarck's body resembles his mind. It is large, rugged and herculean. We disI like to tliink of great men who are crippled and hump-backed like Pope, Scarron and j I Luxembourg. There seems to be some-, thing wrong about it if their frames are not as colossal and majestic as their minds. But infirmities come upon them, and even Bismarck must soon fall. For some years his heftlth has been failing and the announcement of his death at any time would not be a surprise to the world. Jwaps of Ifotttl Itistotit. I REMINISCENCES OF YORK. BY Dr. MAURICE A. MOORE. From the Yorkville Enquirer, 1S70. THE CATAWBA INDIANS. It was between the years of 17(!0 and 1769, that Thomas Spratt obtained a lease for five miles square, from Hauler, King of the Catawbas, to extend through three life-times, or ninety-nine years. He was the first white man who located in "the Nation for prior to this, no pale-face had been able to induce them to allow a settlement on their territory. Spratt was a man, true and just in all his dealings, possessed of courage and tact, nnri nkn thr>rnn<*hlv acouainted with the Indian character, lie gained their confidence and always retained it. Toexemplify his great power over them, I will relate an anecdote of Indian justice, in connection with him. It was some years after Spratt's residence among the tribe, thfit a French dancing, master chanced to trSVel that way. Meeting a party of Indians, one asked him what he had in* his box, referring to his fiddlecase. To please and conciliate the Indians, he took out his violin, showed it to them, and furthermore delighted them by playing some lively airs. Having satisfied their curiosity, he returned his fiddle to its case, and continued on his route. One of the savages, seized with the spirit of Achari, ran ahead of the traveler, shot him from an ambuscade, and possessed himself of the coveted instrument. The article in hand betrayed him ; and it was soon noised in "the Nation" that a white man had been killed. Spratt felt it incumbent on him to use his influence to protect his color. He took with him, Messrs. Barnett, Garrison, "White and Ervin, white friends, and went to see King Hagler. When they arrived at !?!? lirv nmc mif r?n u Imnf with 111.'! Cll^UIlipillClUf HC HIIO uut v/ii ?v Jtutiv his warriors. Not caring to delay in the matter, they went on in quest of him, and came up with him at no very greatdistance, on the top of an eminence, near Iiagler's Branch. He received them with cordial dignity, and, after the usual friendly greeting of hand-shaking, the leading question, "if they were not all friendsand brothers ?" was asked by Kpratt, as the white spokesman, to open the business in hand. The King replied "they were." The white man then continued with his speech, and told of the recent murder of a pale-face by one of the red men, and demanded justice. The King, with benignity, answered, "Justice shall be done, and immediately." Then requesting the white men to seat themselves around, sought the highest pinnacle for himself, took his stand upon it, and taking up his handsome, silver-mounted rifle, put in fresh priming, blew a piercing blast 011 his hunting-horn, and with the air of a 1 * * i.?l. i-l. ^ King anu eye 01 an eagie, wau:iieu me approaches on every side. In a few moments, an Indian came in view, toiling up the asfccent with a fine buck on his back. As soon ax the Indian King descried him, he raised his piece to his shoulder, fell on his knee, took a rest, deliberate aim, and fired. The unerring rifle did its work, the victim of the savage monarch's justice fell dead, and the royal marksman turned to Spratt and his associates, extended his hand in turn for each to shake, in token of further amity between them. Of course they had to be satisfied with his law, administered in his way; and readily accepted his warm invitation to them to dine with him. The repast was venison without salt, and sweet potatoes, roasted on the coals, and served on pieces pine bark for plates ; and directly as they began to eat, the King would order the attendantsto remove it, and bring a fresh piece of bark with another supply of venison and potatoes. This was relocated several times, and done in imitation, Mr. Spratt said, of a dinner flagler naci once had the honor of taking with Gov. Hull, in Charleston, where the changing of plates had struck his fancy as something very grand, and he now observed the style in honor to his white guests. Thus ended the visit of Mr. Spratt and his friends, and a white man was never again murdered by the Catawbas. THOMAS SI'KATT. Mr. Spratt's residence was about two miles from the old "Nation Ford," on the Saluda road. He was a public-spirited man, and induced the Indians to grant other leases to white settlers. He also gave a man named Garrison, a mill-site, to enable him to put up a grist-mill, which he did, on the millsite now commonly known as "Webb's Old Mill," on Steel Creek?the tirst erected in "the Nation ;" and Garrison, I think, was probably the third or fourth white settler. Mr. Spratt lived to an advanced age, seeing white settlements grow lip where he had known hut Indian towns, and the powerful tribe among whom lie had come when young, dwindle into insignificance. How mutable are the things of this world! I remember seeing him once. Ile was a tall, spare man, kindly spoken, and active for his years. He raised a large family. His son, Thomas Spratt, died unmarried; James married a Miss McRea, and left three sons?Thomas, .....1 r 1..,. w.f ln+.,l,r 1VUUV1 I <11111 UnillUUP llll- J tin if IUIV1J uiv editor of the Charleston Standard, an accomplished gentleman and graceful writer. One daughter married Jlugh White; another, Arthur Ervin ; a third, a Mr. Garrison; and a fourth, a Mr. McNeil. The fifth, Susan, never married. WILLIAM KIIVIX. The second white settler in the "Indian Land" was William Ervin. fie was from Virginia, and through the influence of his friend, Thomas Spratt, obtained from the Catawbas a lease of three miles square, extending from Steel Creek bridge, on toward Charlotte. lie moved here with his family, and ever maintained pleasant relations with the natives. A small field of the rich land produced corn for bread and hominy, and his trusty rifle procured always deer and wild turkey for meat. Our now common daily beverages of tea and coffee were luxuries well nigh unknown in the families of i our hardy backwoodsmen, and little labor j and expense were necessary to a comfort- j able subsistence. *uiik aim miner were i usually abundant. Hut a few years after Mr. Ervin's immigration, a disease among the kine in his section of country was prevalent, which proved fatal to his entire stock. He bought a fresh supply, for he could not, he declared, live without milk and butter. The distemper again visited his range. The third time he bought; the distemper killed every cow. In thorough disgust, he ft old three mites square of Indian fund, for an Indian pony, a sitrer irateh, a stiff and an old tea (/on, shook the dust off his feet and removed to the head waters of Turkey Creek, near the spot where Yorkville now stands, and where his cattle found immunity from disease. He never could be brought to acknowledge that he regretted the exchange; for he was a dear lover of butter, and milk was a fair necessity to him, he would always declare, in exculpation of his exchange. William Ervin was a man of short stat-! ure inclined to be corpulent in his old age, j when I knew him. A brave, free hearted j man, who would tight for a friend and give j his last shilling to a needy stranger, with a : great (leal of dry humor and fund ofanecdote, which he told well. 1 Le fought at Fort I)u Quense, and used to say he did there "some of the tallest running to save the red hair on the top of his head." lie was in the Koowee expedition, and afterwards fought till the end of the Revolution as one of Lacy's command, and lived years after to tell many a merry tale of his campaigns. His wife was Miss Sally Ross, a sister of Major Frank Ross, of York, a woman of great energy and good sense, who lived to the advanced age of ninety-eight. They had three sons and four daughters?Arthur, Frank and William, who was called the handsomest young man of his day; Dorcas, Jenny, Mary and Katie, from whom are many descendants now living in York. "(JKXTLKMAX" KItAXK IIOSS. Francis Ross was horn in Virginia. When quite young, his parents emigrate to North Carolina, and settled in Mecklei burg county, between Coddle Creek an Rocky River. Before the war, he came t the "new acquisition"?now York countyand located about two miles from whei Yorkvillc is now situate. Here, from h high senseof honor, wealth,and uncommo grace of manner and person, he soon ai quired in the settlement the title of "f/m// dhdi,11 a custom brought by the Scotcl Irish from the "old countryand ever now and then, we tind the epithet applie< in old times, to some man of the commt nity, admired and looked up tr? for his si periority in accomplishments, property, c family. In all the old land papers of Ros though signed by a orrw, he is styled "(Jei flomnn Frnnk Urms." Gentleman Frank Ross had a lavorii sister married to William Ervin, an though bitterly opposed to the match, 1 afterward became much attached to h brother-in-law; and in his family mettl romance of his life, which, more for tl interest of my young readers than an ep sode of his life, 1 narrate. His reconeili; tion with Ervin, too, is characteristic of tl times in which, they lived. At a large pul lie meeting, a common bully, who had drunken spite against Ross, went throug the crowd, frequently, in close hearing < Ross, saying with loud and insolent oath "Gentleman Ross was no gentleman, and li could whip him!" This, of course, wj very annoying to a hold, high-spirited mai hut the fellow was beneath his notice, an his only refuge was dignified silence. Nov William Ervin, in his younger days, was wild, drinking man, generous and brav< Although his brother-in-law had never hoc friendly with him, he was his wife's hrotl er. He did not choose to allow such indij nity to be offered him in public. "W Irish was up," and he wasn't afraid to figl the boasting bravo, which he did, givin him a good, sound thrashing, making hii leave the assemblage and go quietly hom< Ross, though above noticing the insolent of the man himself, wasmuch relieved to 1: rid of it. and appreciated the generous ten per which performed the act, looked up K vin, shook hands, and accompanied hii home that night to see his sister. An there, he met Mrs. Graham, the sister of h brother-in-law, Erwin. She was an uncon monly beautiful and attractive woman, an more than three years before had been ma ried to John Graham, an uncle of Gov. (in ham, of North Carolina. They had live very happily for six or eight months aft( their marriage, when the season arrived i which he was in the habit of taking cattl on to Philadelphia for stile. He made li arrangements and started.to "theNorrard, as our old .^ttlers called it, with afinedrovi and was never heard of again. His wil was young and beautiful, and of a mo: pleasant disposition. They had lived agre< ably together, and everything combined 1 make home attractive. As weeks on wee! went by, and still no tidings of him, h friends were forced to conclude he had, o his road home, been murdered for the moi ey he obtained in Philadelphia; for sue murders were not unfrequent in those earl days of our country'ssettlement. At lengtl too, the young wife gave up hope, believe this solution of his disappearance, and b ner brothers Kiuuiy neartn-sione, iouuu, 1 her early widowhood, a home. Frank Ross became acquainted with lie on his first visit to his sister's house, an was soon captivated by her beauty and get tleness. Nor was she proof against the a tractions of Gentleman Frank Ross. Tli avenues of her heart again opened, and lo\ entered in mastery there. She consente to marry him, but an unexpected obstac presented itself?the bitter opposition < Mrs. Erwin, who would not /war of Iwr broti er tnarn/inr/ a woman whose husband might i alive. Yielding for the present, Ross by r means relinquished the idea of makin Mrs. Graham his wife. At the end of thr< years, he again renewed his suit, for tl seven years of absence of Graham made legal for his wife to marry; but Mrs. Erwi could not accept this common rule an overcome her feelings, still insisting the ought not to be united, without proof of tl husband's death. Susie Graham's tend* conscience had experienced more than or prick at the new affection, which had atfirs unawares, grown in her breast, and si yielded to the prejudices of her sister-ii law, rather than to the entreaties of h< lover, and finally discarded Frank Ros He afterward married Rachel Love, ofYor District. At the beginning of the Revolution, hee poused the cause of the Whig party, an was an active ptiruzuii icauur 10 mu mm* i his death. 11 is first service was in the"sno campaign," in the winter of 177">-'7(>. I the summer of (770, he commanded a ha talion from York,* which wasinthe4tKeow< expedition," and in the spring of 1779, i command of a battalion of cavalry, joine Colonel Hammond and his "light horse, near Augusta. On the morning of the 29t of March, five miles east of Rocky Com for they attacked a party of Cherokees. Xir Indians were killed, and some white me who were dressed as savages, (three Chen kees and three whites) captured. There: fled and saved themselves ; but here Maj< Ross received a mortal wound in his abcl men. From a MS. journal of (fen. Josep Graham, of North Carolina, we make tf following extract: "The brave Major Fran Ross died of his wounds the Gist of Marcl and was buried with military honors the 1; of April, in sight of, and opposite to, Ai gusta, on the Carolina side." Major Frank Ross was more than six fe< in height, of a muscular frame, and weighe above two hundred pounds; had dark Tiai eyes and complexion, of noble presence an commanding port. He was cut off in th meridian of life, being only about thirty-fiv years of age, at the time of his death. II left three sons, little lads, when he wt killed?James, Alexander and William. A faithful negro, belongingto their fatlu from boyhood, (whose name, as he was we known and respected in Yorkvilie, in my r< collection, shall he recorded in these "remii iscences"), going always under thesouhr quet of "Cracker Tom," managed the: plantation after his master's death, work in himself as well as making others do it b force of example combined with authority and during1 all the minority of the yotm Rosses?making: the finest' crops, keepin everything: in order on the premises, an proving: himself worthy the confidence r< posed in him. When Alexander and Wi iiam removed from the homestead of thei father, "Cracker Tom," now verging: towar old age, begged to stay in his "old cabi home." They indulged him, and ever year corn and meat were sent down for hi support. At last the decrepitude of yeai made him willing to go to "Mas' William's to be taken care of till ho died. .James Ross was dearly beloved, but die early, unmarried, and I always heard was youth of exceeding promise. Alexande studied law, and settled in Lancaster, wher lie*also died single. William married an left a family. One son Dr. Frank Ross nm resides in Char lotte, N. C. [to uk continued.] Saved a Shieling.?A weaver took t his employer a piece of cloth he had jus finished. L'pon examination two hole were found for which a tine of two shilling was uemnuea. "i?o you cimrgu me sum for small as for largo holes?" askoil th workman. "Yes; a shilling for every hole big or little." Whereupon the workma immediately tore the two holes into one exclaiming, "That'll save a shilling, anj how." His employer remitted the whol tine at once. J6??r Advice is good and every one needs i at times, but it is like nearly all other gooi things?it may be overdone. When on becomes a kind of object of general counsc and direction, the confusion to which he i subjected by the varying prescriptions of hi friends is so torturing as to make him fee lie is a victim. It is usually safe to keep ou advice to ourselves until it is asked for, am even then to dispense it sparingly. $ ||tiscdliittc0tt)5 fteading. '1 HISTORY OF THE ALPHABET. p How many of the millions that daily use is the alphabet ever stop to think of its origin j ill and long history? In the true spirit of a | ?- student, Isaac Taylor, a well-known English i c- writer on philosophical and philological sub- i i- jects, lias recently written and published in i y London, two stout volumes under the title ! 1, "The Alphabet, an account of the Origin i i- and Development of Letters." It is only by i- help of recent discoveries of early inscripir tions and the progress in the art of reading | s, lost languages and deciphering hitherto unl j known symbols, that such a well-posted liisj tory has become possible. Iiy careful study ho I /\f tlui or*/l cnianfifi/t ? n 5 rro f i nnc r*f d the latest philologists, Taylor has set forth le in language within easy comprehension the is origin of the alphabet, showing that our own ic "ltoman" letters may be followed back to ic j their very beginning, some twenty or more i-: centuries ago, as he asserts. AVe have no i- better letters, according to this account, than le those of the Italian printers of the fifteenth century. These were imitated from the a beautiful manuscripts of the tenth and devil | enth centuries, the lettering of these being :if j derived from the Roman of the Augustan s, age. The Roman letters, in turn, are traced ie I to those employed at Rome in the third cents tury R. C'., and these do not differ greatly i, from forms used in the earliest existing <1 specimens of Latin writing, dating from the v, fifth century R. C. This primitive alphabet a of Rome was derived from a local form of ?. the Greek alphabet, in use about the sixth n ! century R. C., and that was a variety of the i- earliest Greek alphabet belonging to the ?- eighth or even the ninth century B. C. The is Greeks got their letters from the Phceniit cians, and theirs are clearly traceable in the g most ancient known form of the Semitic, n The most ancient of books, a Papyrus a. found at Thebes and now preserved in the e French National Library, supplies the eario liest forms of the letters used in the Semitic l- alphabet. The Stone Tables of the Law r- could have been possible to the Jews, only n because of their possession of an alphabet, d and thus the Bible and modern philological is science unite in ascribing a common origin l- to the alphabet which i> in daily use (11 throughout the world. The :iin ^teenth cenr-1 tury B. C. is hold by Taylor \ > or the api proximate date of the origin of alphabetic (1 writing, and from that time it grew by slow ;r degrees, while from Egypt, the home of the it Jews during their long captivity, the knowle ledge of the alphabet w:is carried in all diis rections where alphabets are now found. " The Aryans are thought to have been the 0, first to bring the primitive alphabet to perfe fection, and each letter and each sound may it be traced by Taylor's careful analysis | 3- through all the changes that have marked :o the growth, progress, and, in some instances, :s the decay of different letters of various alis phftbets. It is an intern -.ling fact that the n oldest known "A B C" in existence is a l- child's alphabet, scratched on a little ink h bottle, of black ware, found in one of the y oldest Greek settlements in Italy, attributed 1, to the fifth century B. ('. The earliest letd ters and many later ones are known only by j y inscriptions, and it is the rapid increase, by n recent discoveries of these precious fragments, that has inspired more dilligent re?r search, and quickened the zeal of learned d students in mastering the elements of knowll edge of their origin and history throughout t- the world. As late as 1S7(5 there Were found le in Cyprus some bronze plates inscribed with e Phoenician characters, dating back to the cl tenth, even the eleventh century, ii. C. le Each epoch has its fragments, and tin iuof dustry of English explorers, the perseverh ance of German students, and the genius of be French scholars have all contributed to io group them in their chronological order, ig Coins, engraved gems, inscribed statues, ?e and last of all the Siloam inscription, found le in 1880 at Jerusalem, on the wall of an old it tunnel, have supplied new material for the n history. From thecommon motherofmany d alphabets, the Phoenician, are descended the y Greek and other European systems on the io one side, including that which we use and 3r have the greatest interest in; and on the le other, the alphabets of Asia, from which t, have sprung those of the East, Syriac. le Arabic and Hebrew. OUR FRUIT IX OTHERS. s. We live in the lives of others more than k in our own. Where is the handful of grain which we flung so recklessly away upon s- the now-plowed field a little while ago? d There it is, in the green field, and in the riof pening grain, and, in a little while, in the w full corn in the ear. And where are the n toils, and tears, and self-denials, which we t- have expended for the Lord? Yonder, in >e those disciples whom we have brought to n the Lord. "Except a kernel of wheat fall .(1 into the ground and die, it abideth alone," ? says Christ; "hut if it die, it bringeth forth h much fruit." The same is true of the distt ciple as of the Lord. We die in expended 10 energy, in exhausting toil, in tiresome self11 denial, for the good of others; but thus do > we minister life to others. As the apostle *t has written, "So then death worketh in us. )r but life in you." It was on this ground that lie could say to his converts, "Hut now we ih live if ye stand fast." Each of us is hut a io branch of "the true Vine." If our sub k I stance lias been taken to nourish and make i, fruitful some other branch, we have but fol*t I lowed the Master. ? i- John Xewton received into his church a young and uncouth Scotch lad, who soon attraeted his attention ; for, though rude of ,1 j speech, the love of C'hristsnone conspicuousr I lv in his words. The good ministergot one J I of his wealthy parishioners to give him an ,e education, and tit him for the ministry. A j few years passed, and that young man was e j in India, known as Claudius Buchanan?a ls | name more illustrious in the annals of Britj ish rule in India, than those of Hastings and ?r ('live. It was he who wrote the "Star of ]1 j the Kast," whose beams lured Adoniram Judson to Burmah, to preach the gospel to ; the heathen, and with him and after him j. I scores of others. If when John Xewton jr j lay dying some one had come near him and ? j said, "Well, good sir, your work is done ; y your life is ended," he might have pointed t across the sea to Buchanan, and said, "I live i in that man yonder, whom 1 brought to | ? Christ, and prepared for service in the great; ji i work of missions."? Watchword. PJ J ?*? - IIkSwohk Himself.?A Montana post. " j master, who arranges the mails for the little I j town of Birnev, lives eighty miles from a 1 \ notary public. When he sent in the first , quarterly report he administered the oath s to himself and then certified to the correct18 I n<nf fhn iififonnt A renlv came back V? from the red-tape headquarters at WashingI ton, that he had violated a sacred precedent , I and must get a notary public to swear him. , i His retort was that he knew no precedent i that would assure him mileage and travol? i ing expenses for 100 miles in order to get a I | notary's signature. This left the Depart- i (; | ment not a leg to stand upon and they have | since observed a discreet silence and allowed j i the Montana man to swear as he pleased, j Ss'an Fraud wo Chronicle. o j "Hvkry Hkakt Kxowktii its Own >t J}ittkuxkss.''?Frank Steve Thomas, a j is ' gambler, known as the "silent man," who j ;s ; committed suicide in Galveston, Texas, re e eently, left the following note: e j "I have killed myself because I am weary j ?, 1 and want rest. I prefer to take the chances ' n j in the next world, if there is one, than to ! i, j trust any longer to the tender mercies of j ; the people in this world. I beg the good ! e ; lady of whom I rent my room, to forgive j | me the inconvenience I may cause her, for j I I was afraid if I shot myself on the street, it as I intended to do, the first shot would not! d ; prove fatal and I might not have strength | c i enough left to shoot again. Every heart j d knoweth its own bitterness." s ! The astronomical day begins at noon ; | il j the civil day begins at the preceding mid- j r night. The civil reckoning is, therefore, | d twelve hours in advance of the astronomic- i al reckoning. ' A Of heat Tkkahi/ he Vau lt.?An official of the treasury department recently took me on a tour of observation down in the cellar of the immense building where Uncle Sam will shortly deposit his millions, writes a Washington correspondent. Directly under the cash room of the United States treasurer's office, a space about forty by thirty feet has been cleared. Although even now it is surrounded with solid masonry, save only the doors and windows, it will be made so secure that there will remain not the slightest probability that any stray burglar will get a chance at the treasure. The contract with the government calls for a burglar and fire-proof place of deposit. The entire walls and ceilings will be sheathed with solid steel, and the floor, which is at least twenty feet below the level of the adjoin| ing streets, will be laid in cement or asphalt. | The entire cost of this vault will be $40,000, and it is here where the immense amount of gold and silver coin which the government is obliged by necessity to keep on hand will be stored, awaiting the order of payment to individuals and corporations as they are entitled to it. Just beyond I saw three young colored girls at work on a large pile of waste paper. They looked each scrap over carefully, and appeared to be very busy. I was informed by my guide that these girls examined all the waste paper in the treasury department. They sit there day in and day out, looking for valuable papers which have escaped the eye of the usually vigilant officials in the office above. Frequently they find papers of inestimable value. A Promised Blessing.?Geological experts are of the opinion that the signs yarrant them in predicting a re-enactment of the catastrophe of Sodom and Gomorrah in the modern Sodom of Utah. Professor G. K. Gilbert has been investigating the modern geology of the country round about Salt Lake, and has arrived at the conclusion that Salt Lake City and Utah are liable to be victims of a terrible earthquake, such as have been the destruction of Carraccas, of Lisbon and other cities. When the terrible calamity is to be expected, he does not say, but he intimates that it may not be far off. * On this point he writes: "From Warm Spring to Emigration Canon, fault scraps (that is to say, earth fractures in the mountains) have not been found, and the rational explanation of their absence is that a very long time has elapsed since their renewal. In this period the earth strain hasbeenslowly increasing, and some day it will overcome the friction, lift the mountain a few feet, and re-enact on a more fearful scale the catastrophe of Owen's Valley." The professor's dire prophecy is based on the theory that the active interior forces of the earth are gradually concentrating and accumulating power, and soon the earth's crust must give way under the strain for the upheaval that is to follow. The Lord has a way of settling matters without quibbling when his anger is aroused, and the "Mormon Problem" may be nearer solution than we suppose. The Edmunds law is nothing to what the blear eyed bigamist may find in store for him.?Fort Worth Gazette. A Gentle Woman's Influence.?Of I "Gflhe" Rouek. who was for two terms a representative in Congress from Wisconsin, ancl who "only distinguished himself by voting 'no' so loud that he could be heard in Alexandria, when a proposition was up looking to woman suffrage," a contributor in the Washington Pout writes: "Bouck underwent a queer transformation when he came to Washington to serve in Congress. He had never worn a white shirt or a waist| coat before coming here. His shirt was a | black flannel, with a heavy gold chain J twisted down its front. His coat was a blue i frock, adorned with huge brass buttons. I His face was heavy and swarthy. His nose i turned up a decided pug, while his eyes ! were black and viciously crossed. Over a ! low forehead hung a shock of uncombed, ! coarse, black hair. This eccentric lawyer? I a man of ability, a sworn bachelor and a I howling hater of women?came to the Ebi bitt house, and was seated at the table where I sat Congressman McKinley and his wife. Her bright, sunny, lady-like ways subdued I at once, the man who had never mentioned, j for fifty years, a woman's name without ani oath. Gradually Bouck became trausformI cd. He bought a white shirt and awaistj coat. He had his hair cut and combed. Fii nally he added the crowning stroke by hav| ing his boots blacked. He was, while here, j the chivalrous and devoted slave of the j charming Mrs. McKinley, who used to be j called, by her lady friends, "thebear tamer." What we Live For.?"What is life ?" | some one asked Montford. His answer is one of the most charming things ever written : "The present life is sleeping and waking ; it is good-night on going to be^l, and I good-morning on getting up; it is to wonder ; what the day will bring forth ; it is rain on i the window when ope sits by the tire ; it is j walk in the garden aVid hear the birds sing; I it is to hear news from East, West, North, South; it is to read old and new dooks ; 11 is to see pictures and hear music j it is to have breakfast, dinner and tea; it is to belong to a town and have neighbors, and be! come one in a circle of acquaintances ; it is ! to have friends and love." S&" The year just closed was a busy one with the criminals and unfortunates. A statistician is responsible for the statement that in this country the murders averaged four per day and the suicides two per day. In the United States 145)4 persons met death it the hands of fellow-creatures, against 720 the previous year. Ohio is the banner murder State, leading with 116 cases. Missouri j follows with 104, tying New York. Only j 105 persons were executed by the law during | the year, while 5)2 were disposed of by vigiJ lance committeesand mobs carrying outtne . decrees of Judge Lynch. The suicides of ! the year foot up 5)10.* In this business New | York leads, with204 victims. The sunset glow, which has been so brilliant for the past few weeks, is having a peculiar effect upon the negroes of Texas. They are fully convinced that these are signs that the world is coming to an end. As a result they are crowding into their churches every night, and their prayers, songs and shouts are louder and more unctious than ever before. If this effect is to be universal the brilliantly lighted heavens may do some good in the world besides keeping the scientific men busy explainingthe reason forit and the imaginative reporters describing its beauties. {$&" Every five years Georgia pays money to men who lost limbs in the late war, and the Governor has just announced his readiness to receive applications for the State's second payment. There were, the Augusta Chronicle says, between 950 and 1,000 applicants in 1878. There are four classes of applicants?those who lost legs amputated above the knee, who are allowed $100; legs cut off below the knee, $75; arms above the elbow, $(50; arms below the elbow, $40. The aggregate cost to the State is about 850,000. The money is to enable the recipients to buy artificial limbs. flS?" The height and velocity of clouds have been determined in England bv means of photography. Two cameras, placed about (500 feet apart, are provided with instantaneous shutters simultaneously released by electricity. The observer measures the angle of inclination of the cameras and the position of the cloud as photographed on the two plates, and from these data a trigonometric calculation gives the distance and height of a cloud with great accuracy. B^f-The first loom, it is stated, ever made in the South was put in operation at the Atlanta, Ga., cotton factory last week. It was made by the "Georgia Mill Supply Company," and is pronounced the best loom in the factory. fig?" Our brains are seventy-year clocks. The angel of life winds them up once for all, then closes the case and gives the key into the hand of the angel of the resurrection..